


Summer in the North

by mygiantoflannister



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Meet-Cute, New England, Summer Love, Vermont, minimal angst lol, this is gonna be a fun one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-05 14:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15172847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mygiantoflannister/pseuds/mygiantoflannister
Summary: When seventeen-year-old Rose Stark is summoned across the country to Vermont to spend the summer with the grandmother she barely knows, she's less than pleased, but she quickly learns there's a lot more to the Starks than meets the eye.  Will Rose be able to juggle family drama, New England living, and her own budding romance, or will she spend the summer missing her mother and the father she never knew?





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrozenSnares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenSnares/gifts).



> I want to give a huge thank you to FrozenSnares for taking the time to discuss this story with me (and for sending me like 20 possible Rickon fancasts)! You're truly an angel.
> 
> [View the picspam for the story here!!!!](http://mygiantoflannisters.tumblr.com/post/175563828175/summer-in-the-north-when-seventeen-year-old-rose)

“So did anything interesting happen to you today, Mom?” Rose Stark asked, looking up from her shrimp lo mein at her mother.  “School has been so boring now that the year’s almost over.”

“Actually, yes,” Jeyne replied.  Warm Arizona sunlight was streaming in through the kitchen window, giving Rose’s mother an almost ethereal glow.  Her long chestnut braid swooped over one shoulder and was glinting almost copper, her dark eyes were glowing, and her heart-shaped face was practically beaming.   _She’s so beautiful_ , Rose thought.  “I talked to your grandmother today, and she wants you to stay with her this summer.”

“But Grandma Westerling lives five minutes from here.  I see her all the time!” Rose was confused.

“Not Grandma Westerling, silly,” her mother chuckled, “Grandma _Stark_.”

“But I barely even know her!”  

“She’s your grandmother!”

“I get a card in the mail for Christmas and my birthday with a fifty dollar bill and some lady’s fancy handwriting telling me she loves me, but that doesn’t mean anything!  I don’t even know what she looks like!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rose.  You’ve seen pictures.”

“Still…doesn’t she live way out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Vermont is _not_ the middle of nowhere!  It’s beautiful, and I loved living there.”

“Then why’d you leave?”

Jeyne looked sternly at her daughter.  “You know why, Rose.” Before Rose had a chance to apologize, her mother had brightened and changed the subject.  “It’ll be good for you, sweetie. Just…think of it as a whole summer for you to be anyone and do anything you want.”

“I guess,” Rose was doubtful.   _She acts like I’m going backpacking through Europe, not to spend the summer with my grandmother in the middle of bumfuck nowhere._

“I’ll tell you what.  Be positive, and try to enjoy it.  I know you can. But, if that turns out to be impossible and you have a terrible time, then the last two weeks of your break we can go anywhere you want.”

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.  Do we have a deal?”

“Deal.”

. . . 

In the final weeks of the school year, Rose was surprised to start feeling what she thought might be excitement about her upcoming trip to Vermont.  From what her mother told her, the Starks were some of the craziest people Jeyne had ever met, and a summer with them sounded much better than a summer with her mother’s nice, but rather boring family.  

“I miss them,” she’d said wistfully one night at dinner, “I was only just getting to know them when Ro—when we moved back here.  All I know is what Cat’s told me over the years.”

Jeyne told of adventurous Aunt Arya who’d disappeared after college and joined the CIA, brainy Uncle Bran who never let his paraplegia get in the way of his goals, sophisticated Aunt Sansa who’d surprised everyone when she eloped with a man fifteen years her senior, and rambunctious Uncle Rickon, still in college and wreaking havoc.

“He was only three or four when I left,” Jeyne told her daughter, “But he’s giving your poor grandmother more than her fair share of gray hairs.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.”

It seemed Rose had barely blinked before school ended, her bags were packed, and her mother was driving her to the airport.

“Be good,” Jeyne said, hugging her, “Have fun, and call me when you get a chance.”

“Mom,” Rose said, suddenly nervous, “What if they don’t like me?”

“Oh, my sweet summer child,” she chuckled, kissing her daughter’s forehead, “How could they not?”

. . .

The plane touched down in Vermont in the late afternoon, and Rose disembarked with a sense of mounting trepidation.  Uncle Rickon was picking her up, but, she realized with a start, she had no idea what he looked like. Clutching her suitcase tightly, she peered through the crowd.   _There he is!_  A college-age boy was holding a piece of paper in the air that had ‘Rose Stark’ scribbled across it in Sharpie.

“Hi, are you my Uncle Rickon?” she asked, approaching him.

“Oh, gods, don’t call me ‘uncle,’ please!  We’re only a few years apart; it makes me feel weird,” he grimaced.  He was tall and gangly, with long, messy reddish brown hair and blue eyes.  His left arm was covered in a sleeve of colorful tattoos, and his face was covered with freckles.

“Way to make a good first impression, Rick.”  Rose hadn’t even noticed the girl next to him, holding his hand.  She was petite and curvy, with dark, nearly black hair dyed teal at the ends, matching her bright blue eyes.  “I’m Shireen,” she said pleasantly, smiling at Rose, “Girlfriend to this idiot.” When she turned to kiss Rickon on the cheek, Rose had to stop herself from gasping when she caught a glimpse of the side of Shireen’s face, which was marked by scaly gray scars.

“I’m Rose, but I guess you knew that,” she gestured towards Rickon’s sign.

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckled as they headed out of the airport.

“I’ve always wanted to have someone waiting for me like that, like in the movies.”

“Me, too.”

“Nice car!” Rose exclaimed when they reached the parking lot, and she stopped to admire the sunshine yellow Volkswagen camper van.

“Thanks!” he said, taking her suitcase and loading it in the back, “I spent a couple years fixing it up, and this is the first year I’ve actually been able to use it.”

“So where’s Grandma?” Rose asked once she’d settled into her seat and they’d hit the road.

“At home cooking, I think,” Rickon answered, “She’s so excited about you coming to stay for the summer, and she wants everything to be perfect for you—she even called your mom to find out your favorite meal so she could make it tonight.”

“Rickon!” Shireen lightly slapped his arm.

“Aw, shit,” he wrinkled his nose in frustration, “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll act surprised.”

“But yeah,” Shireen turned back to face Rose, “She’s thrilled you’re coming—I think she misses having girls in the house, now that—”

“Now that Arya’s busy spying on the Terrorists and Sansa ran off and disgraced the family and she’s stuck with me and Bran all the time.  You actually sort of look like Sansa.”

“Do I really?  Where does Sansa live now?”

“She lives over in Weston with Sandor—that’s her husband.  He’s a good guy, Mom just hates his family.”

“Why?”

Shireen and Rickon looked at each other. “Well, for one, he used to work for the Lannisters, and also his older brother is kind of, um, a serial killer?”

“No shit?  Have I heard of him?”

“Maybe.  Gregor Clegane?  His trial was a couple of years ago?” Shireen prompted.

“That name sounds familiar,” Rose said slowly, wracking her brain for more details, “Wait—was he the guy that killed all those women because he liked the way it felt?  And then in the trial he was utterly remorseless and laughed when they sentenced him to death?”

“That’s him!” Rickon said, mockingly cheerful.  “Brother-in-law of the year Gregor Clegane.”

“And Aunt Sansa is seriously married to his brother?”

“Not just married,” Rickon said, “utterly, head-over-heels, ‘I think it’s true love,’ sappy Nicholas Sparks novel in love with him.  And he’s just as crazy about her. It would be sickening if they weren’t Sansa and Sandor.”

“Will I get to meet Aunt Sansa?”

Rickon and Shireen exchanged a look.  “Yeah,” Rickon said finally, “I’ll sneak you up there some afternoon.  I know she’d love to meet you.” 

. . .

The sun was just starting to set by the time Rickon’s van pulled into the Stark driveway.   _No one told me grandma lived in a palace_ , Rose thought to herself as the house—no, mansion—came into view at the end of the long, tree-lined driveway.  Built on the banks of the Battenkill River, the Stark family home was a sprawling Cotswold-stone building that Rose thought would’ve been more at home in a fairytale than in Vermont.  Set far back from the road and secluded in a thick forest, the atmosphere surrounding the house was still and peaceful and a drastic change from the urban, high desert city of Tuscon that Rose called home.   _I’ve never seen so many trees in my life._

“So, what exactly did Grandma and Grandpa do for a living?” Rose asked, jumping out of the van and walking around the back to retrieve her suitcases.

“The Starks founded the town and the Tullys founded, well, Tully,” Rickon said casually.

“Tully?  Seriously?” Rose eyed her matching, monogrammed, forest green Tully luggage set, “No wonder Grandma sent me all this stuff for my sixteenth birthday!  I didn’t even realize that was her maiden name.”

Rickon chuckled, “Stay here too long and soon enough all of your clothing will be replaced by the sensible, country, Tully styles, you’ll be using Tully products and sleeping on Tully sheets and consuming a diet consisting solely of fish caught with Tully fishing poles at the Tully fly-fishing school.”

“I wish he was kidding,” Shireen said seriously, noticing that Rose was giggling softly at the absurdity of her uncle’s declarations.  “Just you wait.”

“Moooom we’re hoooome,” Rickon called, ushering Rose into the house.

“Coming, coming!” a woman’s voice said, speaking from deeper within.  “I was just finishing setting the table!”

Rose was nervous, then, in that moment as she waited for Catelyn to appear.   _What if she doesn’t like me?_ said one voice.   _She’s your grandmother, of course she’ll like you,_ said another.

But then there was Catelyn, standing at the end of the entry hall, clutching a pink cloth napkin in one hand.  Rose was taken aback by how well her grandmother had aged. Near sixty, Catelyn’s bright copper hair was only barely streaked with silver, her face nearly unmarred by wrinkles, and her crystal blue eyes just as bright as those of a woman half her age.

“Rose?” she said, almost uncertainly, eyes shining with what might have been love.  

Rose nodded.

“Oh, my sweet Rose, you’re even more beautiful than I imagined!  Come give your grandmother a hug!”

The hug was strong and warm and Catelyn smelled like cinnamon and vanilla and home _.  Why was I worried?_

“It’s so good to finally meet you, Grandma Cat!” she said, breaking away.

The elder woman smiled back at her granddaughter, the barest hints of laugh lines crinkling at the corners of her eyes.  “It’s been far too, long, dear,” she paused, “Come, let me show you your room, so you can unpack and settle in and then we’ll have dinner.  Or would you rather eat first and then unpack?”

Rose looked over to her uncle and saw that he was mouthing “Eat first” to her over the top of Catelyn’s head.

“I guess I am a little hungry,” she admitted, “It’s been a long day.”

“Of course!  Let’s go right into the dining room!  Rickon, would you be a doll and bring Rose’s bags up to Sansa’s room?  Oh, and find your brother, please.  Shireen, lend me a hand with the plates, will you?” Catelyn took charge.

“Can I do anything to help?”  Rose asked, hating to feel useless.

“No, no, no!  You just go right through that door and sit down wherever you want, okay?”

“Okay.”

Rickon returned shortly after Rose chose a seat on the side of the table, followed by a dark-haired young man in a wheelchair being pushed by a tall, thin, dirty blond man.  

“Hello,” the dark-haired man said, “You must be Rose.  I’m your Uncle Bran; it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you, too, Uncle Bran!”  She was tempted to ask about the wheelchair, but soon recalled her mother telling her something about Bran falling from an upstairs window as a boy, leaving him paralyzed.

The blond wheeled Bran to his place at the foot of the table and took a seat next to Rose before introducing himself.  “Hi, Rose,” he flashed a quick, tight, smile, “I’m Jojen Reed, Bran’s boyfriend.”

“Hi, Jojen!”   _Mom never told me Uncle Bran was gay!_  “How long have you two been together?”

Bran looked over to his boyfriend, eyeing him thoughtfully.  “It’s gotta be close to, what, maybe, eight—”

“It’ll be nine years this December,” Jojen reminded him.

“Jojen’s better with dates than I am,” Bran said apologetically, “But, wow, has it really almost been nine years?”

“It really has.”

“I know, they’re adorable,” Rickon said, noticing the look of admiration Rose was giving her uncle and his boyfriend from his spot across the table.  “But not as adorable as me and Shireen.”

“Doubt it,” Bran laughed.

“Doubt what?” Shireen asked, entering the dining room with a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes and a basket of dinner rolls.

“That we’re the most adorable Stark family couple,” Rickon kissed his girlfriend on the forehead after she’d filled the seat next to him.

“Wow, you guys are all really making me feel my singleness right now,” Rose joked, “But I’ve accepted that I’m going to be alone forever.”

“Don’t say that!” Catelyn entered with a plate of steaks.  “Any boy would be lucky to have you, and besides, you’re only seventeen!  Now, dig in!”

“Maybe Rickon and I can set you up with someone!” Shireen offered, scooping herself some mashed potatoes.

“Maybe,” Rose chuckled, “Are there lots of eligible bachelors in Manchester?”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll find you _someone_ ,” Rickon said.

Rose took a bite of her steak.  “Grandma Cat, this is delicious!  How did you know steak and potatoes was my favorite meal?  And I love these pink napkins!”

Rickon winked at her across the table.

“Oh, you know, a little bird told me,” Grandma Cat said, eyes twinkling, “So, Jojen, how’s Meera doing?” 

. . .

Rose’s exhaustion hit in a sudden burst immediately after dessert (peanut butter cookies and vanilla ice cream, her favorite).  She’d been running all day on less than three hours of sleep, and it was getting to her.

“Someone looks tired,” Catelyn noticed when Rose yawned for the third time in a row.

“I didn’t realize what a long day it’s been,” Rose agreed.

“Let me show you to your room so you can get to bed.  We have all summer to get to know each other.”

“Alright,” Rose conceded.  She knew she needed sleep, but she was having so much fun laughing and swapping stories with her newfound family that she didn’t want to leave.

“I put your things in Sansa’s old room,” Catelyn was saying as she led her up the stairs.  “It seemed more your style, but Arya’s room is right across the hall, so feel free to move in there if you prefer it.  I was going to put you in your father’s old room, but I—I wasn’t sure.” They stopped at the door to Sansa’s old room. A light pink sign read “Knock before entering” in a girlish cursive hand.

Rose opened the door and looked into the room.  “This is perfect, Grandma Cat, thank you,” she hugged her grandmother tightly.

“Goodnight, Rose, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Grandma Cat,” she paused, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Catelyn said softly, before descending the stairs.

Rose entered Sansa’s room and locked the door behind her.  The room really was Rose’s style. The bed was dressed with a floral bedspread in varying shades of pink, with matching throw pillows and a patchwork quilt, and topped with a gauzy blush pink canopy.  Along the left side of the wall was the closet and desk, and sharing the wall with the door was a large dresser. The far wall was dominated by a big bay window overlooking the river, complete with cushions that matched the bedspread.  The hardwood floor was covered in the middle by a small hot pink shag rug, and the walls were adorned with many pictures, and several posters (Ashton Kutcher, Britney Spears, and _Gilmore Girls_ ).  Rose assumed that the redheaded girl in all of the pictures was a young Aunt Sansa.   _I suppose I do sort of look like her_ , Rose thought, noticing the woman’s red hair, blue eyes, and fair skin, _But I think I look more like my parents._

Rose had inherited her father’s dark auburn hair and pale, rosy-cheeked coloring, and her mother’s curvy build.  Her celadon eyes were all her own.

She unpacked quickly, pulled on a pair of pajamas, and collapsed onto the bed.   _This is going to be an interesting summer._


	2. Rickon and Shireen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [view the picspam here!](http://mygiantoflannisters.tumblr.com/post/175689283380/summer-in-the-north-chapter-2-rickon-and-shireen)

_May 2017_

“Rickon, you can’t drive home like that.  You’re too wasted, buddy.” It was late Friday night—or rather early Saturday morning, and Rickon and his friends were out celebrating the end of their freshman year final exams.

“My buddy Theon lives a few blocks over—I’ll just walk there and crash at his place.”  

“Alright, well, see ya tomorrow!”

Rickon began the walk to Theon’s, concentrating very hard on putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to trip over his own feet.  “Maybe I shouldn’t have done those tequila shots,” he whispered aloud. “I’m talking to myself like a crazy person!” He clapped a hand over his mouth and began to giggle, spotting Theon’s apartment building up ahead.

 _Now let’s see.  Theon lives on the first floor, so I can just climb in through the window._  Rickon stumbled into the hedges around the edge of the building, feeling his way along the wall.  “Is his the third or fourth one over?” he wondered aloud, peering in through a window. It was too dark to see in, so he moved on to the next one.   _This has gotta be it_ , he decided, noticing that the window was open a crack.  Rickon eased the window open the rest of the way and catapulted through, landing on the floor with a dull thud.

“Fuck!” he yelped, noticing two sets of eyes peering at him through the darkness.   _Oh, it’s just some cats_ , he realized _, I didn’t know Theon had cats.  I always pictured him as more of a dog person myself but—damn that couch looks so inviting._ In his drunken daze, Rickon attempted to step carefully over to the couch, managing to knock into not only the coffee table, but an armchair and the TV stand, before kicking off his shoes and collapsing onto the couch with a contented sigh as he rubbed his sore shin.

 _It’s fucking hot in here._  “You know, Theon, there’s a thing called air conditioning,” he whispered maliciously in the direction of the bedroom, pulling off his remaining articles of clothing and tossing them onto the armchair.

 _I love this couch.  There is no comfier couch in the entire galaxy_ , he thought, drifting off into sleep.

When he awoke, it was to a girl’s earsplitting scream.   _Oh, gross, Theon must’ve had a girl over last night_ , he realized, blinking sleep from his eyes.  “Shh, it’s cool,” he groaned, lazily flapping a hand at the girl without fully opening his eyes, “I’m a friend of Theon’s.”

“Who the fuck is Theon?” she shrieked, “How did you get in here?  Who _are_ you?”

This got his attention.   _Fuck, this_ was _the wrong apartment._  He sat straight up finally making eye contact with the girl.   _Fuck, she’s cute._  “She” was petite and curvy and brunette, clad in naught but an oversized Red Sox jersey, with her hands on her hips and blue eyes narrowed in suspicion.  The side of her face was covered in scars, but Rickon thought it did little to diminish her good looks. _Way to make a shit first impression, Rick._

“ _Well_?” she demanded.

“I-I got super drunk last night and couldn’t drive home, but my buddy Theon lives in this building on the first floor, so I climbed through what I _thought_ was the right window to crash for the night, and well, as we both know, I was wrong, so here I am.”  He looked up to meet her eyes, but they were looking elsewhere. It was then that he remembered he was naked.  “Seven hells!” he cursed, reaching for the first thing he saw to cover himself—a ‘home sweet home’ throw pillow.

“Not my,” she screeched, reaching out a hand, before lowering her voice—it was too late, “favorite throw pillow.”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m so sorry about all of this,” he apologized.

“It’s,” she sighed, “it’s fine.”

“Really?”

“It was an honest mistake.  We all do crazy shit when we’re drunk, right?”

“Wow, you’re awesome for being so chill about this…?”

“Shireen,” she supplied, “Shireen Baratheon.”

“No shit!  Are you related to Robert Baratheon?  I’m Rickon Stark, by the way.”

“He’s my uncle,” she said, almost apologetically, “And you must be related to Ned Stark?”

“My dad,” Rickon’s smile faded.

“Sorry for your loss,” she said quietly.

“Thank you, but it’s okay.  It happened a long time ago, and half the Lannisters and their men are dead or locked up now.  I’ve made my peace with it.”

She nodded solemnly, understandingly, before clasping her hands together, “What a small world, huh?”

“That’s what they say,” he paused, “So, I’m gonna put my clothes back on, and then could I maybe take you out for coffee?”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“No,” he interrupted her, “I want to.  It’s the least I could do, and besides, cute girls that like the Red Sox are my weakness.”   _Why did I just say that she’s gonna think I’m crazy fuck fuck fuck._

“Is that so?” Shireen raised an eyebrow.  He nodded sheepishly. “Well, tall, naked, strangers are _my_ weakness, so I guess I might have to take you up on that offer.”

Hangover or not, this was shaping up to be a great day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave all questions/comments/concerns below :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I've had the idea for this story bouncing around in my head for a _looooong_ time, so I finally decided to start it! I have a pretty solid plan, and I've already written the first few chapters, but I'm going to space out publishing them in case life gets in the way (as it always seems to), and I don't have time to write the rest of the story. In the mean time, feel free to leave all questions/comments/concerns below or come [talk to me on Tumblr](http://mygiantoflannisters.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Sidenote: Manchester, Vermont is a real town, and everything in this story is based on actual places. Tully is supposed to be like Orvis (an outdoorsy hunting/fishing/apparel/everything store based in Manchester), and the Stark mansion is supposed to be Hildene (the summer home of Abraham Lincoln's son Robert Todd Lincoln).


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